Walking in the Wind

The bell on the café door jingled, announcing my arrival to every customer, ignorant and nosy. But I, myself, was ignorant to the presence of those around me. My eyes scanned the small building. My heart's pace seemed to quicken when we locked eyes. My target was locked and I was making a direct beeline to her.

She smiled a sad smile, puzzling me as I took the seat in front of her. I smiled back. She took her moment to gather her thoughts, the way she always did in a pressured situation before speaking. I took that opportunity to remember her - her blonde hair pulled back into her lazy pony tail, the used tissue tucked under the sleeves of her sweatshirt and coat, and the fact that she chose to put boots on today not because of the weather but because she was too lazy to tie a different pair of shoes. That or all her shoes were packed in that jade green suitcase she used to live out of before she got back on her feet - the suitcase that sat full by her side at the moment. Her cheeks were a deep red, either she was still cold or she'd been crying. She wouldn't hold eye contact long enough for me to determine the actual answer.

"Sarah," I whispered, letting her know her time was up.

She looked at me again, took a deep breath, then sighed. "Remember back in year five when I didn't talk to you for over a month?"

I nodded. "All because of a bloody joke, but I felt like a real wanker when you cussed me out."

"I still do that," she shrugged.

"Yeah, but it's a bit scarier when you're nine and a fellow nine year old is doing the swearing," I pointed out.

She smiled genuinely and I felt my muscles relax from that small action. "But remember after that month of silence when I started talking to you again?"

"Yeah. Carla died and you came over to make sure I was okay." I remembered that day so clearly, if I had any artistic talent I could put it on canvas.

"You loved that old cat like she was your grandmother," she stared into her coffee, her words trailing off. "Or the time mum grounded me and I couldn't talk to you for two weeks over the summer. But at night I would sneak out and climb up to your window and stay up all night complaining about life. We'd lay down on your floor, the top of my head to the top of yours, and plan our great escape from this town - where we'd go, how we'd make a living, what our first house would look like. . ."

"What does this have to with anything?" I asked.

She met my eyes again. "Do you believe I'll never be too far?"

I took a deep breath. "It's not like this is the first time you've moved to the other side of the world."

"But this time is different," she argued.

"I'm still not understanding your point," I leaned forward, resting my arms on the table between us.

"All those times I disappeared in the past," she began, "I came back. I always came back to you and everything would always be okay. You know why?"

I shrugged, egging her to go on.

"Because I was never too far. Even when I was all the way in America, I wasn't far."

"You're not making any sense," I shook my head, running a hand over my face.

"You love me, don't you?"

Her question caught me off guard. I did. I loved her deeply, and there was no denying that. She knew that. I had confessed my love for her before, but it didn't end well. Would she hurt me again the way she did that night?

"You know the answer to that," I swallowed hard.

"And you loved me every single time I left you in the past, correct?" she continued.